Saving Santa
by Foxtrick13
Summary: Sherlock and John are summoned to help Santa. But how do you help the thing you were told doesn't exist?
1. I (don't) believe in Santa Claus

I don't own Sherlock. If I did, I wouldn't be typing this on a 14 year old computer.

Comments welcome. Flames will be burned to offset the cost of heating.

Chapter 1 – I (don't) believe in Santa Claus

Sherlock Holmes was 8 years old when he stopped believing in Father Christmas. And it was all Mycroft's fault.

It was exam week at Mycroft's school, and he was stressed. Between trying to fill the holes in his memory by rereading everything and stress eating, the last thing he had time for was his brother and his theories. If he didn't get good grades, he couldn't get into uni. He didn't want to disappoint his parents and himself by not getting accepted. He was very smart, but exams stressed him.

"Mycroft! I figured it out! I know how he does it!"

Mycroft sighed as Sherlock stormed into his room with several books and pads of paper. His hair was messy and he had paint and ink on his school shirt. Mummy would not be happy when she saw it.

"Sherlock, I'm studying. Can this wait until later?"

"NO! I just made a great scientific discovery! I know how Father Christmas gets to everyone's house in one night!"

"Please, I need to study!"

"No you don't. The exam is easy and you already know it all. You are just stressing yourself for no reason. Plus you are spoiling your dinner by stress eating again. And you are getting crumbs all over you text book."

"ENOUGH! There is no Father Christmas and if I don't study I won't get into a proper university, and it will be ALL YOUR FAULT!"

Sherlock looked at Mycroft in shock. Why would he say such things? He was smart enough to get into uni now. Why say that there wasn't a Father Christmas?

"But…"

"Quit being a brat and GET OUT!" Mycroft slammed his text book on his desk.

"Boys! What on Earth is going on here?"

Mummy Holmes glared at her two boys. She had been working on the Christmas decorations down the hall and heard them fighting. After hearing the book slam, she sighed and went to break it up. She didn't allow fighting and wasn't going to let it continue.

"Well? Are either one of you going to explain yourselves?" Mummy Holmes said, putting her hands on her hips.

"Sherlock is being a brat and isn't letting me study." Mycroft said quietly.

"Mycroft said horrible things." Sherlock said quietly.

"Sherlock, go downstairs. Also, how many times have I told you to change out of your uniform after school? Mycroft, you'll be having dinner in your room tonight. No TV and no dessert. And I want the cookies that are in your desk."

Sherlock sighed and left the room. Mycroft sighed and handed over his large stash of sweets out of his desk. Mummy Holmes glared at him and the large bag of assorted candy and biscuits.

"If you continue to waste your pocket money on rubbish, you won't get any pocket money. If this is all you are going to eat, perhaps you shouldn't have dinner, since you've had enough already for a small army. Honestly Mycroft! And just because it is exam week, doesn't mean you don't have to be nasty to your little brother."

"Sorry mummy." Mycroft looked sadly at her as she exited his room and shut the door behind her.

Sherlock sat on the couch in the drawing room. This was Mummy Holmes' office and being asked to go there meant he was in trouble. He hated the ugly pink of the room and the uncomfortably firm couch. But the thing he hated most was coming, being scolded by mummy. He heard her in the hall, asking the maid for tea and to dispose of Mycroft's sweets. He sighed sadly as she entered the room.

"Why do you insist on annoying your brother? It's impolite to bother people when they are busy. And remember that you aren't getting any more pocket money, since I've had to now buy another shirt for you. It's been five shirts that you have destroyed since the beginning of term. I cannot send you to school looking like a mess. There are standards and dress codes. And what do you think they would say about your father and I if we cannot instill basic lessons in our children. They would laugh and talk! We have a reputation to maintain and I will not have you causing problems."

"Yes mummy." Sherlock said automatically. He always found that it got him out of trouble by just repeating that over and over.

"And why is it that you decided to skip football practice? Your father and I are paying good money for that! You need the exercise and to get outside. So, where were you? Looking for dead animals again? Accusing people of things they didn't do? Well?"

"I was at the library. I needed to get some books. But mummy, I made a great discovery!"

"And?"

"I found out how Father Christmas gets all around the world in one night!"

"Honestly Sherlock!"

"But mummy! If we could find out how to replicate the process, then father would be able to come home more often! Plus we could go and see him without being on the plane forever too!"

"So, instead of going to practice, you are doing junk science? Why do I even bother?"

"But mummy!

"NO! You will go to practice after school. You will not waste your brain on stupid stories. You will behave yourself!"

"But…"

"NO! You will march yourself upstairs! No dinner, no dessert, no TV! And heaven help you if I find anymore death things in your room!"

Sherlock sighed and took his things to his room. He sighed as his placed his note pads in his desk. All that hard work, all for nothing. He didn't want to get rid of his collection of animal bones. They were so interesting, different that human bones. He really didn't want to go to football practice. It was boring and his teammates were dull. They hated him. They wouldn't let him have the ball. They were always tripping him. When they lost a game, they would blame him. He preferred his violin and youth orchestra. He was good and his teacher wanted him to play at the Christmas concert. There wouldn't be any practicing tonight.

Sherlock changed into his pajamas and got into bed. He knew his mummy would come up in about 5 minutes to check that he was in bed. He curled up and held his pillow. Silent tears slid down his cheeks.

"Why doesn't anyone understand?"


	2. Silent Night, Long Day

Chapter 2 - Silent Night, Long Day

Sherlock sighed as he sat in his chair.

He had just solved a case. A woman, who owned a bakery, was being blackmailed for sleeping with another woman's husband. This morning, the blackmailer sent her a nasty message of a rock through the bakery's window. Attached was a note saying that the blackmailer would report her grandfather to the government as a war criminal unless they were paid double. Sherlock deduced that the blackmailer was suffering from a case of wrongful blame. The woman is a lesbian and a gold star lesbian at that. The blackmailer had the wrong spelling of her name, the German spelling rather than the English spelling. Her grandfather wasn't even in the war due to a limp caused by polio. He had served as a vicar and air raid warden in Essex. Every time that the blackmailer had said that she was sneaking off, she had a concrete alibi. That afternoon, he was at the drop site for the money. He apprehended the blackmailer and handed her over to Scotland Yard. She was the daughter of the man who was sleeping around. Her logic was that if she couldn't get her father to stop cheating on her mother, she would hit the mistress in the wallet.

What Sherlock wasn't expecting on was what she did next. He confronted her with the evidence and she was cuffed. Then, she did something gross.

She spit on him.

Right in the face.

Sherlock hated being spat upon. Too many times in his life had someone decided to spit on him. All the times were in school, when a classmate had tired of his intellect and decided that he needed to be put in his place. But it never stopped at spitting, there were also the beatings. There was nothing like limping home after being beat up and spat upon. Lucky for him, he was able to learn to defend himself. If anyone tried to beat him up, he could almost always defend himself.

"Hey! Spitting on someone is assault! Do you want to be booked on that too?" DI Lestrade snapped at her, before putting her into the back of the police car.

Sherlock wiped the spit off his face with a towel and placed it into an evidence bag. He handed the bag to Lestrade before walking off.

"Oi, freak. Where do you think you're going?" Donovan snapped at him while collecting evidence.

"Why do you care? It's not as if you plan to follow me." Sherlock snapped back.

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By the time Sherlock got home, John was already home from the clinic.

John was tired as well. Lots of colds, lots of sick children, and a few loonies. He was glad that he was home and that he had the next few days off. The days leading up to Christmas were always hectic. Having Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, and Boxing Day off would be nice. He had a few things left to do and he hoped that no cases came up. He ordered a pizza and took a quick shower.

John came down stairs after showering to find Sherlock opening a box on the kitchen table.

"What is this?" John asked as he peered into the box.

"Our client gave us a Christmas bonus. She said it was a cake but I have not idea what kind. Oh, and she gave me a check. I suppose we need to pay bills with it. She said that if I didn't cash it, she would come over and force the money through the letter slot."

Sherlock handed John the check. Five thousand pounds. John smiled, knowing it would not only take care of bills, but maybe they would have enough to put into savings. Jobs were coming in and most of the bills were getting paid on time. He felt better that he didn't have to shoulder the burden of being the only bread winner in the house. He needed to go to the bank anyway tomorrow. Then to the store for groceries.

"John? Why does this cake look like a piece of wood?"

John looked back at the cake and smiled. He hadn't had one of these since he was in Afghanistan. One of the US Army doctors had gotten one sent from home and shared it with everyone.

"That is a Yule log cake. It's made to look like a piece of wood. I've had one before and it was wonderful. Better than the dry cake they serve in the officer's mess."

"But how is it so round?"

"It starts off as a flat cake, but then it's rolled up. There is usually some sort of cream that is spooned on top before it's rolled up. When you slice it, it looks like a spiral. Oh, the holly leaves and berries are marzipan! She went all out on this cake!"

"Well, she was very grateful that I captured the blackmailer. She was very upset that the woman sought to destroy her for no reason."

"I ordered a pizza. We'll have this after dinner. I'll take a slice down to Mrs. Hudson."

"She went to visit her sister for Christmas. Perhaps it would be best to save a slice for her."

Sherlock left the kitchen and hung up his coat.

"I need a shower. The blackmailer thought she could express her displeasure by spitting on me."

"Ewww! Good thing I left you some hot water."

Sherlock showered and dressed in his pajamas. He joined John in the living room. There was pizza, cake, and crap telly. Even though he and John would argue from time to time, he felt loved. John would push him to eat, to get out of the flat, to be nicer to others. He wasn't as smart as his brilliant mind, but he was very smart. But the best part was now. Sitting on the couch, watching some funny Christmas special, laughing their heads off.


	3. Arose such a clatter

Chapter 3 – Arose such a clatter

John yawned and stretched. Mid morning light poured into the room. John smiled, it was Christmas eve. It was nice to be able to get a good night's sleep and being able to sleep in. He knew he was going to be busy today, but there wasn't a case or a waiting room full of sick people. He sighed, stretched again, and got up to make some tea.

John sipped his tea while making a shopping list. The flat was quiet, Sherlock was still asleep. He needed to stop by the bank to deposit the check, go get some groceries, and clean the flat. He also wanted to make a small Christmas dinner for him and Sherlock. He knew that he wouldn't go over to his sister's, she would be full of alcohol before he got there for lunch. Sherlock won't go home, no matter how many times Mycroft would prod him. So it would be him and Sherlock. Maybe just a chicken or a small ham. But before any cooking, the kitchen needed to be cleaned. Sherlock was notoriously messy. If it wasn't random body part tucked into the microwave, then it was the huge pile of dishes in the sink. Mrs. Hudson would tidy up, all while tutting at Sherlock. He wouldn't clean unless it was an absolute necessity. The only times that John saw him clean was when his experiments would go bad. Usually Mrs. Hudson was in the hall, giving him a lecture.

John pushed the basket through the grocery store. It was busy, everyone getting their last minute shopping done. However, John was too happy. There were many couples shopping together. One in the produce department was so close and were acting so cute that it made John sick. He was annoyed with their kissy faces, their cooing, their closeness. He wished he had that. He hadn't had a girlfriend in three months. Every time he was seeing someone, they seemed to get jealous of Sherlock. Others thought he and Sherlock were a couple. He was tired of hearing "I can't compete with Sherlock". He couldn't help that Sherlock was more interesting and more fun. The only thing that seemed to be enjoyable is the sex. Sherlock wouldn't have sex with anyone. Women and men had approached Sherlock, only for him to reject them. Sometimes nicely, other times not so much. He remembered the time at Angelo's, being rejected by Sherlock even when he was only trying to make small talk. But no, there would be no chance of Sherlock even liking him. He smiled as the checker handed him his change. He grabbed the bags and headed home.

"It's just better this way."

xxxxxxx

Sherlock was in his mind palace. He needed to sort and organize the huge amount of knowledge he had amassed in the past few days. Since he had eaten and slept, his processing was slower. But unless he had a case, he would be stuck in the flat until after Boxing Day.

Boring.

John passed through his mind. He was always seemed to take more and more of space in his head. He wasn't sure what to think about the wayward doctor/solder. He cared for him. It was pleasant. He felt warm in a way he hadn't in a long time. Not since he and Mycroft were young. He never had any friends growing up, and only one friend at university. He studied John's actions and compared them to others he had knowledge of.

John cared for him, and this puzzled Sherlock.

He often had people wanting to sleep with him. Women and men had propositioned him many times. It was annoying. He couldn't understand why these people insisted on wanting to have sex with him. There was one time he thought that John was asking, but he was mistaken. Small talk, so confusing, such a waste of time.

John lugged the bags of groceries up the stairs. He knew better to ask Sherlock for help, because he never would. At least he didn't have to fight for space in the fridge for the food. Molly got to take this Christmas off and had been with her family for several days. That meant the fridge wouldn't be stuffed with body parts. After putting away the food, he grabbed the dish soap and started the dishes.

"John, hand me a pen."

"I'm doing the dishes."

"Boring."

"Yes, well someone has to wash the dishes."

"BORING!"

"There isn't anything to eat or drink with."

"Eating is boring."

"Not everyone can eat a few times a week and function properly."

"But I need a pen."

"Then get up and get one."

"But I'm comfortable!"

"And the flat needs to be cleaned! I can't do everything Sherlock."

Sherlock sighed and flipped over on his side in a huff.

xxxxxxxxxx

John finished cleaning and slumped into his chair. He was tired and sore, but everything was clean and put away. He was too tired to cook and really didn't want to mess up the kitchen. His stomach rumbled and he sighed.

"John, you're stomach is growling. Do you want dim sum for dinner?"

"It's Christmas Eve, are they even open?"

Sherlock jumped up and dashed to his room. John blinked. Five minutes later, Sherlock was dressed and putting on his coat and scarf.

"Come on John. If you don't eat, I'll have to listen to your stomach all night. The noise it makes is grating."

John laughed and grabbed his coat. They walked the three blocks to the Chinese restaurant. They came there so often that the owner and all the wait staff knew them. They even had their own table. Sherlock and the waitress chatted in Mandarin before she left to fetch a pot of tea and two cups. Soon, little bamboo steamer baskets filled the table and John was munching on dumplings. Sherlock sipped on his tea and ate one chicken dumpling.

"So, I take it that you aren't going to see your sister tomorrow."

"No. I have no interest in listing to her rant and rave after drinking two bottles of wine by herself. Then after the wine comes the vodka and the self loathing. I think I've had enough of that. And I take it that you aren't going home either?"

"Mycroft has already texted and called about that. Tedious. The trip alone would be two hours and I have no patentees for family conversation. Plus Mycroft told me that our cousin and her family were coming. She is highly annoying."

"Did she steal one of your experiments?"

"No. We had gone on holiday and were stuck indoors during a rainstorm. She wanted me to play dolls with her and I was reading. She took my book and put it into the fireplace. She was 5. Mummy and Aunty nearly had a heart attack. Not only did Aunty buy me a new book, but she didn't let her have anything special for the rest of the trip. Every time she saw me afterward, I was 'mean Sherlock'."

"Wow, that wasn't nice."

"Her father spoiled her. Let her have anything she wanted. Aunty had a horrible time getting her to do anything. Her children are holy terrors as well. I wouldn't be surprised if they grew up to be terrorists, or reality television stars."

John snorted. He always did have a weird sense of humor.

Sherlock paid for dinner and they left. John suggested that they walk around to see the sites. He pointed out the different decorations and they stopped to look at the shop windows. Sherlock told John the different meanings and traditions of all the different decorations. They smiled, joked, and laughed all the way home.

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Sherlock looked out the window. John had gone to bed for the night and he was busy thinking. He really didn't like Christmas, but with John, it seemed to bring out the kid in him. So confusing. Feelings never made sense to him, and this weird, unknown feeling was the most puzzling of all.

It happened in an instant. One minute, he was standing by window thinking. The next, he was flat on his back on the floor. He looked up to see a group of reindeer in his living room.

"What the hell?"


	4. Sherlock got run over by a reindeer

As of posting this chapter, I have 90 views. Thanks so much! Also, this story is unbeta-ed, due to not having a beta reader.

These next two chapters are fueled by cherry cola and mom's homemade chex mix...

* * *

Chapter 4 – Sherlock got run over by a reindeer

Sherlock learned that one should expect the unexpected when it came to solving a crime. Something easily overlooked or trivial could be the key to finding the reason behind the act.

However, Sherlock never expected to be lying on his back, surrounded by broken glass, being looked down upon by a reindeer.

John, who was sound asleep in his bed, was startled by the noise from the living room. He grabbed his gun and carefully made his way down the stairs. He was fearful that someone had come to kill them or kidnap them. He still remembered when Moriarty had kidnapped him and strapped explosives to him. He hadn't been so scared in his life. He had nightmares about dying or about Sherlock dying that horrible night. No, he would protect Sherlock. Quietly, he opened the door to the living room, pointing the gun through the doorway.

The sight that greeted him was not at all what he expected. Three large reindeer were in the room, as well as a girl dressed in a green cape. She couldn't have been more that a meter high, and looked very upset. Sherlock was flat on his back, wearing the same look of shock that John had.

"What the hell?" John looked around the damaged room, not sure what was happening.

"Oh dear! I am so sorry! I didn't mean to crash into your home! Please, don't shoot me! I promise that I will fix everything!" The girl looked John, as if she was silently begging for her life.

John put his gun down and went over to Sherlock, who was trying to sit up. It was difficult, seeing that he was bumping into the chest of the reindeer. John slid him out at an angle and helped him up.

"John, are you seeing this too?"

"Yes Sherlock, I am."

"Oh good. I thought someone drugged me."

"Still, we have a problem"

The reindeer looked sadly at Sherlock and started to make noises that made no sense. The other two looked just as sad and nodded in agreement with the first.

"Um, I'm sorry. Just what is going on and why did you crash into our flat?" John looked at the girl with a puzzled look.

"I was trying to find someone to help me. I need a doctor. Normally, there would be 36 doctors in this area. But only five were still here for Christmas and only one is on the nice list. Please help me."

"Nice list?" Sherlock looked puzzled at her.

"Santa has a nice list and a naughty list. Dr. John Watson is on the nice list. He helps people get well and helps the police catch criminals with Sherlock Holmes. He must help Santa. He is hurt and I can't help him. Please!"

"How is he hurt? Where is he?" John knelt down and looked at the girl.

"He's in a warehouse two miles away. Someone set up a trap to catch him. He, the sleigh, and the rest of the reindeer are trapped. His leg is torn open, and he's bleeding badly. If we don't get to him soon, he will either bleed to death or the person that set the trap will kill him." She started to cry.

"Right. I need to get dressed and grab my med kit. I will be right down. Sherlock, get dressed. I'll need your help." John ran up the stairs and Sherlock dashed into their rooms. They dressed quickly and grabbed some supplies that they would need. John came back downstairs and grabbed his gun off of the table. Sherlock had his gun as well as both of their cell phones. He handed John his phone and pocketed his own.

"So, how do we get there?" John asked her quickly.

"You can get on Cupid and Sherlock can ride Dancer. Comet here will lead the way."

"You want us to ride them?" Sherlock looked at the girl skeptically.

"It's just like riding a horse. Just hop on and away we go." She said with a smile.

John and Sherlock got on, both very awkwardly. John hadn't ever ridden a horse and Sherlock hadn't ridden since he was a teenager. They settled on and hoped that they wouldn't fall off. Comet went out the window. They both squeaked as their reindeer followed. Sherlock shut his eyes and held on for dear life. He hadn't expected that these were flying reindeer and wasn't used to sailing through the air, unless he was strapped in tight. John felt queasy. He had flown around to different parts of the world before. But he had been in a plane, with a seat and a seatbelt. He had even had to parachute into a remote area to help wounded people after an earthquake. Not having the safety of a seatbelt or a parachute was scaring him.

"It's ok. The reindeer won't let you fall. You will be ok."

John looked up to see the girl smiling back at him as the rushed past the buildings.

"So, what happened with the window?" John asked, trying to calm himself.

"I am so sorry about that. We were trying to land of the roof. But please don't worry, I've fixed everything. When you get back, everything will be as before. Elf magic is very helpful. I didn't mean to scare the both of you. Normally, something like this has happened extremely rarely. But this time, Santa was hurt and couldn't get back to the North Pole. I'm scared for him."

"Elves? Magic? Santa? North Pole?" Sherlock asked, still holding on tightly to Dancer.

"Yes. Is there a problem?" The girl looked at Sherlock.

"I was told that Father Christmas didn't exist. John was also told that he didn't exist. Also, magic isn't real either. There is always an explanation. Science or slight of hand. Used for entertainment or criminal purposes."

"I know that the both of you were told that he doesn't exist. But he does! He helps so many people around the world. Besides, he believes in you to help him."

"So, what is your name?" John asked, trying to calm the situation.

"My name is Bryndis. And yes, I am an elf."


	5. The kidnapped Sandy Claws

Chapter 5 – The kidnapped Sandy Claws

After flying for a short while, they landed at a warehouse. It was dark, except for an eerie red light and flashes of white coming from inside. They carefully made their way inside.

"John, this is near where they recently had several electronic store thefts. It is possible that whoever set the trap for Father Christmas may have also stolen the electronics as well. It makes sense."

"All I know is that the person is on the permanent naughty list." Bryndis said. The three reindeer snorted and nodded.

They entered what looked to be a manufacturing area. There were fork lifts parked at one area off to the side. Shelves piled high with boxes. Computer stations next to conveyer belts. Small printing presses. John tried to picture what went on here during the day, but wasn't sure. He did notice the thin layer of dust on everything, noting that this place may have been closed for awhile.

"Right Way Printing House. They had to close earlier this month after an electrical fire on the top two floors. No one was hurt or killed. They think it was due to theft of electrical equipment and switches. Ah, the perpetrator returns to the crime scene. Steals equipment and then forces out anyone that would try to stop him. To kidnap Father Christmas. Why? To get his toys? No, too simple. He could have just robbed a toy store. Animal rights activist? No, he doesn't care about the reindeer. Plus he wouldn't be eating burgers." Sherlock steepled his hands and carefully observed the rooms as they passed through.

"Does he always do that?" Bryndis looked at John.

"Yes, he is deducing the motive of the person who set the trap." John smiled nervously.

"The person is a man. Between the ages of 20 and 30. Five foot ten inches. White, with brown eyes. Unknown hair color due to him wearing a balaclava. Do pay attention John."

They rounded the corner and came to a set of double doors. The eerie lights seen from outside were coming from under the doors. John dismounted Cupid and went to open the doors. They were locked. John sighed. Cupid nosed him away from the door. Before John could ask what Cupid was doing, she centered herself and bucked, kicking the doors open.

"Wow! I wasn't expecting that!" John stood in awe of the reindeer.

"They are very strong and quick. They can fly very long distances. We train them all year." Bryndis smiled.

They entered the room. The room was as large as a basketball court. It was full of twisted pieces of metal, stacked pallets, and lots of electrical equipment. In the far corner was the sleigh, knocked over and gifts littered on the floor. Several reindeer lay on the floor, licking their wounds. Against the wall sat Santa, holding his leg. John gasped and ran to him. Before he could get to him, a flash of electricity hit the floor in front of him. He was able to stop and dodge the bolt. He looked to see where it came from. Another bolt came down, causing John to jump over a stack of pallets. He landed on something soft and warm. Looking up, he found two more reindeer. They looked half scared and half annoyed that someone fell onto them.

"John, are you ok?" Bryndis called nervously.

"I'm ok. I fell on two reindeer. Sherlock, you need to turn off the power. I can't get to him if this thing is going to kill me or him. Bryndis, try to get as many reindeer away as you can. I can see two injured ones near Santa. If he has nine, that means that there are two still unaccounted for. And I take it that the red light is coming from Rudolph?"

"Yes. He does have a bright light. Wonderful on cloudy or foggy nights." She called back.

"John, I wouldn't suggest that you try to shoot at the sensor. It looks like the bullet could ricochet off it and might hit someone. However, something larger could knock it offline. Bryndis, can those reindeer kick a can or barrel as precisely as the doors?"

"Yep, that they can!"

"Do it. I need time to find the power source." Sherlock took off and went to find the machine.

John looked back at the reindeer hiding with him behind the pallets.

"I'm John and that was Sherlock. We are here to help Santa. See that sensor? We need to take it offline before I can look at his injuries."

The two nodded and made noises that John didn't understand. One knocked over a box and cans fell out. The other carefully nosed the cans into two lines. They called over to the others and readied themselves. He heard a noise and saw a can flying at the sensor. The can was zapped and exploded in mid air. Two cans then came flying from two different directions. Both suffered the same fate as the first. A snort and a bugle came from across the room. Cans started flying from all parts of the room. The two reindeer close to John started kicking their cans. The sensor could only zap a few before they started pelting it. Some cans dented and fell to the ground, others opened and covered it with black ink. After about three boxes of cans hit the sensor, it started sparking and caught fire, before falling to the floor near John's pallets. John grabbed the fire extinguisher and quickly snuffed it out. The reindeer bugled and made happy noises.

"Sherlock, it's down! Did you find the power source?" John called.

"No, the control panels are all locked and there aren't any tools around to break into them. Can you get to Santa?"

John went over, only to have to dive away. He grabbed a few cans and tossed them toward Santa. The cans hit what looked like a force field and were destroyed.

"He has a force field. You need to cut the power!"

Sherlock looked around for anything he could use. He found a fire ax and went to cut the power cable. He swung as hard as he could. The ax bounced off the cable casing and sent Sherlock stumbling backwards into the wall. He growled at it and grabbed the ax. He tried again only to go flying back into the wall again. This wasn't going to work. He needed something more powerful. A screeching noise came from his left. He looked over to see a reindeer pushing a large piece of equipment over. He grinned when he saw what it was. Diamond tipped metal shredder. Used to destroy old engraving plates. The machine was old and looked as if it hadn't been used in a very long time. He removed all of the safety shielding and had the reindeer tip it so that the blades were on the cable casing. Sherlock then ran the cord back to one of the control panels. He paused to collect his thoughts and do a bit of quick planning. Quickly, he plugged in the machine, then ran like hell.

The machine slowly came to life. It began to spark as it cut into the power cord casing. The boxes and pallets around it caught fire. The machine revved faster and faster. Sparks flew everywhere. Soon, cans of ink began to explode and catch fire. Everyone had to duck to avoid being hit. Then the machine hit the electrical cords. The electricity arced along the machine and up the walls. One arc hit the sprinkler system and set it off. Then everything stopped. The only sound was the water.

Another set of doors swung open near Sherlock.

"Police! Freeze!"

Sherlock put up his hands.

"Sherlock? What the bloody hell are you doing here?" Lestrade's voice boomed over the sound of the water.

"Oh wonderful. The freak is here. Why am I not surprised?" Donavan snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.

Sherlock, who now was soaked to the skin with freezing cold water, could only shiver and scowl at Donavan.


	6. I'll be home for Christmas (if I don't

Chapter 6 – I'll be home for Christmas (if I don't freeze to death first)

As soon as the force field went down, John rushed over to Santa. He examined him by flashlight. Santa's leg looked very bad. Compound fracture of the left tibia and fibula, as well as cuts and bruises. It wasn't helping that the fire sprinklers going off, soaking everyone and everything with freezing cold water. John began to shiver as he tried to wrap Santa's leg.

"John? Is he going to be ok?" Bryndis asked.

"I believe so. We will try to get him to the hospital as soon as we can. It may take awhile to heal, and he might have a limp." John said, before taking Santa's pulse.

"As soon as he is stable, he will come back to the North Pole. There are elf doctors that will use their magic to help him heal quickly. But right now, I need to get the reindeer and sleigh back to the North Pole. Donner and Blitzen need to be cared for and the sleigh needs to be switched out for the rest of the evening. We have a group of elves that can fill in for Santa to cover the rest of the world." Bryndis said, picking up the spilled packages.

The reindeer carefully set the sleigh on its runners and helped the injured Donner and Blitzen into the back. Bryndis repacked the sack, strapped in the two injured reindeer, and hooked up the other seven healthy reindeer. She smiled as she guided the reindeer out of the building and back home.

John looked over at Santa. He was pale but was starting to come around. He moaned in pain. John comforted him the best he could, while making sure to catalog all of his injuries.

Suddenly, several lights were shining on him.

"John? Are you ok? Bloody hell! What happened to him?" Lestrade shouted over the pouring water.

"I'm fine, except for being soaked to the skin. But he needs to get to hospital as soon as he can. He has some very severe injuries and is in shock. And with the hypothermia starting to set in, we could lose him." John said, sounding as medically authoritative as possible.

"The fire department is working on shutting off the sprinklers. As soon as they are off, the paramedics will be here to get him out." Lestrade shouted. John could barely hear him.

The fire department, if on cue, shut off the sprinklers. The paramedics rushed in and came to Santa's aid. John tried to stand but had horrible spasms in his leg. He slid against the wall, wishing that he had his cane. Lestrade helped steady him, before another paramedic helped him out of the building and into a warm ambulance.

Sherlock was wrapped in a large warming blanket. It didn't matter much, he felt as if he was going to freeze to death. He was worried about John. He was worried that he was hurt or frozen to death. He cared for him, deeply and fully, in a way he hadn't ever before. It hurt in his chest and he didn't know what to do. He couldn't tell him. No, that would be the worst thing.

John stumbled out of the warehouse with the assistance of a paramedic. He looked for Sherlock. He had seen the damage of the power cable and hoped that Sherlock hadn't been electrocuted. He needed to see him, to make sure he was ok. He wanted to hug him, to yell at him. He had a weight in his chest, the love of his consulting detective. Would Sherlock even want to be with him? Would he instead mock him like the others that wanted him?

They saw each other and Sherlock ran to hug his blogger. He nearly collapsed into John's arms. They were both freezing and shivering. The paramedics escorted them back the ambulance and put them both in heating blankets. They watched as the building's security guard was wheeled into one ambulance and Santa into the second. Then the perpetrator was escorted to a police car, yelling and kicking. Sherlock snorted and John smiled. The doors to their ambulance were closed and it carried them to the hospital.

John and Sherlock spent four hours at the hospital getting warmed up. They had acute hypothermia and weren't allowed to leave until their body temperatures were at a safe level. Sherlock grumbled and John sighed. Santa was taken to surgery for his leg and the security guard was treated for a concussion and some nasty bruises.

When Lestrade came to question them, Sherlock explained the crime. The man was under the impression that the man dressed as Santa had magical powers. He believed that if he could trap him, he would get "huge sums of money" from the government. He was also under the impression that if the British government didn't get a hold of these powers, that their enemies would and use them against everyone. He stole the equipment and stored it at his work place. He caused the fire there because he could find the components in time, so he stole them from the building's electrical grid. But since there wouldn't be anyone to bother him after the fire, he thought that he could get away with it. He made a few mistakes. First, he didn't count on the flashing lights to attract attention of the security guard. The guard called the cops, before he was attacked and had to fight off the perpetrator. Second, Sherlock had "received a tip" about the strange rumors pertaining to the use of the equipment stolen. They tracked him down and found the man dressed as Father Christmas. This man was an innocent bystander, with no connection to anyone. Lestrade sighed and wrote down everything.

"Well, I think that is that. You two should go home and try to get some sleep. And stay warm. I have another few hours of paperwork and need to question this nut ball. Hopefully, I can get home before my kids are awake." Lestrade said tiredly.

"Happy Christmas Lestade." John said, limping out the door with the help of Sherlock.

"Happy Christmas." He smiled at the pair of them, hoping not to see them until the next week.


	7. Best part of Christmas is you

Chapter 7 – Best part of Christmas is you

Sherlock and John stepped out of the taxi in front of 221B Baker Street. Sherlock paid the cabbie and helped John inside. Sherlock helped John into his pajamas and to his bed. He also made sure that John's leg was covered in an extra blanket to keep it warm. Exhausted, Sherlock lie down next to John and fell asleep. They both dreamed peaceful and happy dreams.

During the night, the elves crept into the flat. They dropped off lots of gifts for Sherlock and John as thanks for their help. They were happy to know that they also had a friend in Sherlock, consulting detective.

It was nearly eleven in the morning before John woke up. He was a bit confused as to how he got into bed. What confused him more was that someone was in bed with him. He turned over to see Sherlock lying next to him. He was fast asleep and wrapped up in an extra down comforter that Mrs. Hudson had put into the upstairs linen cabinet. He was also surprised to see that before he had nodded off, Sherlock was kind enough to wrap his leg. It wouldn't be so painful this morning. Still, the sight of a sleeping Sherlock made him feel warm and fuzzy all over. He knew he needed to get up, but he stayed in bed and snuggled next to him.

Sherlock was warm and this made him happy. He felt like he was sleeping in a big, warm, fluffy cloud. Smiling, he wished that John was there to share his cloud. As he began to wake up a little more, he felt someone spooning him. Confused, he turned over to see John looking at him.

"I seem to have dozed off in your bed. My apologies John."

"It's ok. Thank you for wrapping my leg."

"You're welcome. I knew that if I didn't, you would be limping around for a few days."

"Do you want some tea?"

"Yes. I should also get up too."

They made their way downstairs and were shocked by what they saw in the living room. Not only was the window fixed, but gifts where everywhere. Hot tea, toast, eggs, bacon, sausage, and fruit sat on the coffee table. They looked at each other and laughed before sitting down on the sofa to eat. After breakfast, John took the dishes into the kitchen and Sherlock checked his phone.

"Lestade texted me. Father Christmas will be fine and out of the hospital by next week. We should go over to visit him sometime."

"To say thank you for the gifts?"

"Yes, that as well. But I questions for him."

"Such as?"

"When I was 8 years old, I discovered a theory of how he could travel around and give gifts in one night. I want to know if I was right."

John looked at Sherlock. He noticed how quiet he was and that he was nervously fiddling with the comforter.

"Is that when you were told Father Christmas didn't exist?"

"Yes. By both Mummy and Mycroft. She was so mad at me that I almost didn't have Christmas. But Father stepped in and made sure that I did."

"Wow! I guess I got off lucky, since Harry just called me a big baby for believing."

"Well, it's nice to know that we were right. And if I was right about the way he gets around, that will be the icing on the cake. Speaking of which, do we still have cake?"

John laughed and went into the kitchen. He knew that Sherlock could really pack it away after solving a case. He cut two pieces of cake and went back into the living room.

"After the cake, we must open the gifts. I wonder if I will get some of the things I wanted."

"Yes. But you really should get dressed. Unless you want to sit around all day, wrapped up in a down comforter."

"Getting dressed is boring, John."

John finished his cake and began to gather and sort out the gifts. They each got five from Santa, one from Mrs. Hudson, and one from each other. They opened their presents and were very happy. Sherlock got some new lab glassware (he had broken a few of them this year and replacements were welcome), two rare books on early criminology (he had looked everywhere for them only to have them scooped up by rare book collectors), a new purple shirt (because he looked damn good in purple), a train set (which he had been wanting when he was 8 years old), a pocket watch (that he wouldn't use but Mrs. Hudson wouldn't know) and a battery backup for his mobile (John was so clever to give him that). John got two jumpers (they were very soft but very warm), a lunch kit (so that he could take his lunch to work without it getting smashed), a new pair of gloves (since his last pair had fallen apart), a beautiful cloth kite (he had wanted one as a child but could never afford it), a pocket watch (he'd only use it with his suit), and a painting (which he had seen a while ago and nearly choked on his tea when he saw the asking price, and was nearly choking now).

After cleaning up and putting away their gifts, John went to the kitchen to start dinner. Sherlock, who decided that pajamas were easier to move in, changed out of the comforter. He grabbed a hammer, a nail, a pencil, and John's painting.

"Where do you want it?"

"In my room, over the dresser."

Sherlock went upstairs, found the stud, hammered the nail, and hung the picture. He then centered the picture and the dresser. Pleased with his work, he went downstairs to read his new books.

John put the chicken into the pan, seasoned it, and put it into the oven. He then peeled the potatoes, quartered them, and boiled them. He sat down in the living room to work on his blog until dinner was done.

xxxxxx

It was late and snow began to fall over London Few people were out and about. Most were inside enjoying the last bits of Christmas.

Sherlock and John sat on the couch, watching a movie. John was tired. He was dreading doing the bills tomorrow, not liking that Sherlock put everything off until the last moment. But the check would be in the account by morning and things would get done. Sherlock would whine about bills being boring. It didn't matter, because he would be there and he would be happy.

"John, did we forget to open a present?"

"Why? Did you find one?"

Sherlock held up a small box, addressed to the both of them. They opened it, and found a letter and a sprig of mistletoe.

"What does it say?"

Sherlock read the letter.

"Dear Sherlock Holmes and John Watson,

Thank you for helping Santa and I out. I am so grateful to have met the both of you and happy that you believed in me and Santa enough to outsmart that mean man. I hope you enjoy all of your gifts and have a wonderful Christmas.

Your favorite elf,

Bryndis

PS – Hope my gift will help you two express the feelings you have for each other. Because there are feelings there, and they are about to explode like a match on a powder keg. So kiss already!"

Sherlock and John laughed. John held up the mistletoe. They kissed. They felt warm and comfortable with each other. There was passion, trust, and love.

It was the best gift they would ever get.

Oh, and Sherlock was right. He never let Mycroft know because he couldn't believe. And believing was the best part of all.

* * *

Thank you for reading! I hope you all have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!


End file.
